The Scars That Define Us (The Devil's Dust #2)(24)

“Dani, wait,” she commands slowly. Her eyebrow is bleeding where I hit her, and she has a huge gash at the top of her forehead from the rock I slammed into her head.

“I hate you,” I state calmly, my tone threatening.

She steps back, her eyes looking right into mine.

“You have f*cked my life up enough. Go back to New York and never come back here again,” I demand, still pointing the gun at her.

“Dani, you are not one of them.” She reaches for my arm holding the gun, but my finger pulls the trigger back without a second thought and a bullet lodges into the ground next to her feet. She looks down at where the bullet hit and then back at me.

“The next one goes in your head,” I warn her, but I’m not sure if my aim will justify my threat. “This,” I wave the gun between both of us, “is over.”

She bites her bottom lip and smirks. Then my mother slowly walks back to her car and slams the door as she climbs in before pulling out of the parking lot. She’ll be back, I know it.

I let out a breath when her car is completely out of sight. Bobby’s words sling themselves in my thoughts.

‘Never aim at someone unless you have every intent of killing them.’ I bite my cheek, trying to hold the sob, which desperately wants to escape at the thought that I wanted to kill my own flesh and blood makes me feel ill. I blow out a steady breath, trying to get a hold of my emotions, I put the safety back on the gun. I grab my bag off the ground and stuff the gun back into it.

“You better hop on; cops will be here soon.”

I whip my head around and see Shadow on his bike next to the building.

“How long have you been there?” I ask, not thinking to look there when I walked outside.

“Long enough to know someone surely called that gunshot in,” he replies, holding a helmet out for me to grab. “Get on.”

I grab the helmet and swing my leg around the back of his bike. My arms cling to his waist like old times and my body molds to his perfectly, warming at the touch of his against mine, and I can’t help but find comfort in the smell of his leather cut. I hate how perfect this feels, because I know we are anything but perfect together. My body begins to tremble from the letdown of adrenaline, making it hard to hold on as we drive down the highway.

***

Arriving back at the apartment, Shadow pulls up to his designated parking garage after cutting the motor to his motorcycle. I climb off the back and as soon as my feet hit the ground, my weight sets, making them tremble with pain. I hand Shadow my helmet and start to hobble to the door.

“What’s wrong?” Shadow asks, eyeing my unstable walking.

“Nothing,” I lie.

Without another word, Shadow scoops me up like a bride.

“What the hell are you doing?” I slap at his shoulder, trying to pry myself from his grip.

“Carrying you, what’s it look like?” he states, walking into the elevator.

“I can walk by myself,” I tell him, clenching my jaw.

“Not very well,” he chuckles.

I sigh in defeat and let him carry me into the apartment.

As soon as we walk in, he plants me gently on my feet.

“You going to tell me why you can’t walk?” he asks, nodding toward my feet. “You twist your ankle cat-fighting with your mother?”

I look down at my feet. “They are just sore is all. I haven’t danced in a while and they’re not adjusting well.”

“How is the job going?” he questions. I can’t help the look of surprise on my face. The fact that Shadow wants to do the chitchat thing has my mind in a complete whirlwind.

“It’s…” I stumble on my words, “it’s great. I love it,” I eventually reply, being genuinely honest.

“I figured you would,” he says, looking down with a smirk as his hand slides through his hair in that sexy way he does it.

“You got me the job.” I’m stating a fact rather than questioning it.

Shadow gives a noncommittal lift of his shoulders and strides across the living room toward the kitchen. He opens the fridge and dips down, pulling out a beer. Then he shrugs out of his cut and slings it on the back of the couch, revealing his black shirt snug on his torso. The look of him makes my body heat to dangerous levels.

He looks at me with eyes that hold the look of lust and danger with the way he furrows his eyebrows and parts his plumped lips.

The weight of his stare has me feeling vulnerable, so I walk toward the couch, breaking eye contact.

I pull my shoes off slowly and notice my sock is soaked in blood.

“Shit,” I whisper as I slowly peel the sock off my foot.

“Damn, Dani,” Shadow remarks, walking toward me.

“Yeah, it feels as bad as it looks,” I admit, eyeing the cracked toenail.

Shadow sets his beer on the coffee table and walks into the kitchen. I hear cabinet doors slamming and the faucet turn on briefly before he stalks back to where I’m sitting. He sits on the coffee table directly in front of me and starts to gently dab at my bloody toe.

“I can do it,” I tell him, reaching for the towel.

He pulls it out of reach. “I got it,” he says, dabbing at my foot again.

Why is he being so sweet?

“It looks like shit. Maybe you should take a week off and let it heal,” he suggests, his tone laced with sincerity. His hand rubs the heel of my foot and the tension releases instantly, making me involuntarily moan. Shadow’s head snaps up at the unintentional lustful sound leaving my mouth. I snap my lips shut and gaze at the hungry blue eyes looking back at me. His hand travels up my calf, rubbing along the way, and man if it doesn’t feel fantastic. I can feel my body coming alive under his magic touch, my legs wanting to open wider and invite him in. I clench my thighs shut to help smother the growing desire between them. I want Shadow. I have never not wanted him. The idea I could move on without him makes me laugh on the inside. Shadow has ruined me for anyone to follow.